


Complements

by onceinabluemoon13



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceinabluemoon13/pseuds/onceinabluemoon13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a collection of Sherlolly one-shots. Most were originally Tumblr prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Complementary

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Tumblr and fanfiction.net. This story is probably one of the most ridiculous things I've ever written, but it's also one of my favorites. This is what happens when I stay up too late studying for Forensic Molecular Biology. Enjoy!

_Come to Baker Street immediately. – SH_

_Please. – SH._

_It is important. – SH_

Molly stared down at her phone and sighed. She had been looking forward to spending a quiet night with Toby in front of the television. _Oh well_ , she thought. She could not deny that she was excited to see Sherlock. Although they had been together for almost two years, a high-profile kidnapping had kept them apart for the past week and a half. She missed him. Maybe he had finally solved the case.

She hung her lab coat by the door and walked out to the street, hailing a cab and directing the driver to 221 Baker Street. She would find out what he needed, and then perhaps she could convince him to take her out to dinner. Their anniversary was fast approaching, after all.

When they arrived at the flat, she quickly paid and stepped out. Mrs. Hudson quickly answered her knock and directed her upstairs. "Up you go, Molly. Mustn't keep him waiting!" the older woman declared, a giddy smile on her face.

Molly burrowed her brow in confusion as she hurried up the steps. The door was unlocked, and she hesitantly walked inside. "Sherlock?" she called out. The flat was dark, and she was reaching for the light when she noticed him. "Is the case finished? What is going on?"

The man in question stood by the window, bathed in moonlight. She was once again struck by his beauty, and briefly wondered how she was lucky enough to have won his heart.

He turned and gazed at her, adoration evident in his fathomless blue eyes. He slowly walked towards her before grabbing both of her hands in his larger ones and intertwining their fingers.

She had never seen him so exposed, except when he had asked for her help in faking his death. He appeared as though he needed to confess something but was lost for words. She smiled encouragingly up at him, squeezing his hands in reassurance.

Finally, he sighed and stared into her eyes. "Molly, as you very well know, DNA is a nucleic acid comprised of a sugar-phosphate backbone, as well as a combination of only four bases. The two strands are linked via hydrogen bonding. Adenine always pairs with thymine, and guanine always pairs with cytosine."

Well, that was not what she was expecting. At all. She shook her head in bewilderment. "Sherlock, I –."

"Please, Molly, let me finish," he interrupted. At her nod, he continued. "Because of this, every strand of DNA has a complement. There are over 3 billion base pairs in the human genome, but those two strands are perfectly suited for each other." She began to understand what he was trying to say and felt tears well up in her eyes.

"For too many years, I was content to live my life as a single strand of DNA, mocking others who had paired off. Emotional attachments were worthless, and my time was better spent investigating murders and performing experiments. But then, seven years ago, I marched into your morgue, demanding to see the body of George White. Do you remember?"

"Of course, I do, Sherlock," she answered quietly, afraid to ruin the moment. He gulped, taking a deep breath and continued.

"Although I did not realize it then, that moment changed my life. It did not occur to me until I left to destroy Moriarty's network that my feelings for you were more than platonic friendship. I found myself thinking about you more than I cared to admit, wondering if you were waiting for me to come back or if you had already moved on."

He stopped again, contemplating his next words. "I am so fortunate to have found you, Molly Hooper. You are my complementary DNA strand, designed just for me." He reached into his suit pocket and retrieved a small black box. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

The tears were falling freely now, as she gaped at the man she loved. Only Sherlock could turn molecular biology into a marriage proposal. Without replying, she wrapped her arms around his neck and dragged him down to press her mouth to his. She kissed him furiously, tasting the salt of her tears on his lips. She felt him grip her waist, wanting to bring her as close as humanly possible.

She finally pulled away, barely a millimeter separating their faces, and looked at him. "I love you." She said it simply. It was the only possible answer. He beamed at her, his expression the happiest she had ever seen. He opened the box (she had forgotten about the ring in her excitement) and drew out an exquisite gold band, with a simple sapphire adorning it, flanked by two diamonds on either side.

"Do you like it? It was my mother's."

Her hands flew to her mouth as she gazed at her fiancé. "Sherlock! It's beautiful!" He slid it on her left ring finger, flinging the box over his shoulder before grinning and kissing her once more.

XXXXX

John Watson awoke to the sound of a small ping coming from the mobile phone on his bedside table. Mary watched as he read the message and laughed in amusement before tapping him on the shoulder. "What is it?"

"It worked. His ridiculous speech worked! I guess those two really are made for each other…." John shook his head in bewilderment and set his phone back on the table. "It looks like we have another wedding to plan." He kissed his wife's smiling mouth and curled back under the sheets.


	2. Italy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Reichenbach, pre-series 3. Sherlock sees a familiar face while on a mission in Italy. Prompt fill for an Anon on Tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked how this drabble turned out. I'd like to think this is what happened sometime in the two years between series 2 and 3. Let me know what you think!

Sherlock stops and looks around frantically. He is chasing the last of Moriarty's lieutenants, Sebastian Moran, when the man dashes into the center of the crowded square surrounding the Fontana di Trevi. Sherlock curses internally when he realizes he has lost sight of the mercenary. He is so close to finishing this.

He continues searching, twisting his head every which way, when a lone figure, standing on the edge of the throng of tourists, catches his attention.

He has not seen her in nearly three years, ever since he disappeared from her flat in the middle of the night. He observes her for a moment, taking in the sight of the woman who had saved his life.

She is wearing a mint green dress patterned with flowers, hair flowing loosely around her shoulders and white sandals adorning her feet. She smiles to herself as she reads a page out of her book, likely about the history of Rome and the fountain between them.

This image of Molly Hooper contrasts sharply with the one in his mind, the one that comes unbidden to him when he thinks of London and everything that awaits him there. The Molly in his mind palace wears frumpy cherry jumpers and sterile white lab coats. She always carries a cup of coffee in her hands as she attempts to entertain him with one of her morbid jokes. She is not sensual or overtly stunning, but she has a quiet grace that Sherlock appreciates and can occasionally admit he finds mildly attractive.

The Molly Hooper he gazes at now can only be described as _beautiful_. She seems so peaceful and content, and Sherlock feels his mind calm in result to her presence, even if she is unaware of his.

Suddenly, she turns her head slightly to the left, as if she can sense his eyes on her. Meeting his stare, her mouth drops open in surprise before she releases her book and scrambles through the mass of people towards him.

Sherlock's feet begin to move of their own accord, keeping his eyes locked with hers as they clamber towards the fountain. He pushes aside excited sightseers, their exclamations of anger in fifteen languages ignored as he rushes forward.

Finally, they are standing in front of each other wearing matching expressions of astonishment and wonder. Molly reaches out a hand and lightly caresses his cheek. His eyelids flutter closed at the contact, and he lets out a breath, relishing the feel of her fingers on his skin.

He opens his eyes when he hears her choked sob. Her other hand is covering her mouth, and he gently grabs it and squeezes. When she tries to pull away, however, he grips it more securely, afraid to lose even this simple connection.

"Sherlock, I…." He shivers at the sound of his name falling from her lips. It has been far too long since someone called him by his given name. "What are you doing in Italy?" He reads the questions she wants to ask in her deep brown eyes. _Are you safe? Is it over yet? When are you coming home?_

"I have tracked down the last of Moriarty's network to Rome. Soon, everything will be done."

She laughs in relief. Obviously, the past three years have taken a toll on her as well. He cringes internally at the knowledge that he has caused her pain. Wanting to alleviate some of his remorse, he says, "I did not expect to find you here, Molly."

"I just… needed a bit of a holiday, I guess. You know about John's engagement?" He nods. "Everyone is so happy. Not that that's a bad thing!" she quickly adds. "But a part of me feels guilty about sharing in their joy when I have lied to them for so long. I wanted to escape reality for a little while, I guess." She draws her hand away from his face and looks down at her feet.

He cups her chin and pulls her head up. "Molly, you are the bravest woman I know. Thank you. For everything." He presses a delicate kiss to her forehead before releasing her and turning to the fountain beside them. "There is a legend that states that anyone who tosses a coin into the TreviFountain is destined to return to Rome."

"I've heard the stories, Sherlock," she answers softly, reverently admiring the shimmering water.

"Maybe, once this is over for good, we can come back here. Together." He pulls two coins out of his pocket. Handing one to her, he clasps her shoulder and effectively turns them both around, so their backs are to the fountain. "On the count of three, throw the coin over your left shoulder with your right arm. Do you understand?"

She grins at him and bobs her head. "One…. Two…. Three!" They both laugh as they fling the coins behind them. Sherlock takes her hand one more time, bringing her knuckles to his lips. They exchange bittersweet smiles, recognizing that this is goodbye for now. They cling to the other's hands for a moment longer before backing away in opposite directions.

Sherlock turns away from her and walks back to the alley where he had entered the square. He spares her one final glance, filing away this picture of Molly in his mind palace next to his other memories of her. He reflects on the encounter as he strolls through the streets of Rome, now more determined than ever to capture Moran and return to London.


	3. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock have something to tell their friends, but it turns out everyone already knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a prompt fill for an Anon on tumblr, and might be one of my favorite things I've written so far. I hope you all like it too!

John Watson sits with his wife on his left, while Greg Lestrade resides on his other side. Mrs. Hudson scurries in from the kitchen, arms laden with a tray covered in sandwiches. She sets it down on the table and plops down in what used to be John's chair. The group looks curiously to Sherlock Holmes, who had requested their presence this evening.

The consulting detective appears to be waiting for something, and he perks up as the front door opens, revealing the silhouette of Molly Hooper. She stops when she sees the people in the sitting room and gapes at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Now?" she mouths, head darting between the detective and his guests. He gives her a brusque nod, striding over and wrapping his hand around her wrist. He pulls her to his former position in front of the fireplace, and the pair turns to the curious onlookers.

"Molly and I-." He is cut off by a sharp jab to his ribs from the petite pathologist standing beside him. " _Fine_. _I_ -." He glances quickly to Molly and, when he sees her nod in approval, continues, " _I_ have some news I would like to share with all of you. While it may come as a colossal shock, Molly and I began a romantic relationship and have been seeing each other for the past three months. We- _I_ \- am sorry that I kept this secret from all of you. Molly did wish to tell you right away."

He closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders, preparing for the onslaught of abuse his friends are sure to bestow upon him. When the room remains silent, however, he quickly opens his eyes and looks at the others. There is no surprise on any of their faces. In fact, they appear to be holding back their amusement. Sherlock turns to Molly only to see an expression of confusion likely mirrored by his own.

Finally, after a torturous five minutes, John Watson speaks up. "Sherlock…. We kind of knew that, mate. In fact, we've all known about the two of you for a while. You two are rubbish at hiding your feelings."

"And at controlling your libidos," Mrs. Hudson pipes in. "Honestly, Sherlock, dear, these walls are paper thin." Matching red splotches appear on the cheeks of both the detective and his pathologist.

Molly, tears of embarrassment welling up in her dark brown eyes, tries to discreetly inch over to the door when Sherlock grabs her hand and entwines their fingers. He squeezes her hand reassuringly and turns back to glare at the group. Nobody, not even his closest friends, are allowed to make Molly Hooper cry in his presence. Well, aside from Sherlock himself _._ He gulps down his guilt at that thought.

"Well, now that _that_ has been cleared up, how did you figure it out? Please do enlighten us with the details."

John's head shoots up to meet the detective's angry stare. "Are you sure? It might cause you even more mortification." When Sherlock does not answer, only continues to glower at them, he swallows. One by one, they divulge their stories.

XXXXX

Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Hudson is the first to discover their relationship.

She is tidying up after her supper, debating whether or not to force her tenant to eat something today, when a loud bang from 221B causes her to drop the dish in her hands. She silently curses her clumsiness (The loss of her mother's china plate really is a travesty.) before hurrying up the stairs and barging into the flat.

She expects to find Sherlock lounging around in the sitting room, inconsiderately shooting at the wall again, and is astonished to find the room empty. She hears more sounds coming from the direction of the detective's bedroom, hastening down the hall in her rush to investigate. _What in the world could he have gotten himself into this time?_

She nears the door and pushes it open hesitantly, dreading what she could find on the other side. A feminine giggle halts her movements, and she peeps her head through the crack. She chokes down a gasp when she sees Sherlock laying on the bed, with Molly Hooper –

( _Mrs. Hudson's retelling is cut off by a squeak from the woman in question, whose hands are covering her mouth. "I believe you can skip over that_ particular _detail, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock says gruffly, his arm now around Molly. Mrs. Hudson sends Molly an apologetic glance, but Lestrade, John, and Mary look slightly disappointed. Sherlock bites down his retort about them and urges the older woman to go on. With a final glance at Molly, she does.)_

After seeing, well, _that_ , Mrs. Hudson quickly and quietly shuts the door and scurries back to her flat, considering the scene she had just witnessed. A smile slowly blossoms on her wrinkled face at the knowledge that Sherlock has finally found himself a companion. _And such a nice girl, too_.

She begins to question her earlier assessment when she spends the rest of her evening pressing a pillow over her head, trying to block out the noises coming from the flat above her.

XXXXX

John and Lestrade, as it turns out, find out together.

John finds the detective inspector pacing outside the entrance to the morgue, periodically glancing at his phone. He looks up when he hears the doctor's footsteps and sighs audibly as John gives him a knowing look. "He texted me to come immediately to St. Bart's, and the bloody git isn't even here yet!"

"Surely Molly can let us in," offers John, trying to appease the stressed DI. He understands Lestrade's frustration, having been left waiting by Sherlock Holmes too many times to count.

"I can't find her either!" Lestrade shakes his head before seeming to come to a decision. "Fancy a cup of coffee? Maybe they will have magically appeared by the time we get back."

John agrees, and the duo walks towards the lifts when a door slams open in front of them. Without completing understanding why, John pulls Lestrade into a small alcove, out of sight. They peer around the corner only to see Sherlock with his forehead pressed against Molly Hooper's. The two are giggling quietly at each other, and John and Lestrade share a look of pure amazement. _Sherlock Holmes is actually_ giggling _._ John silently wonders if he should take a picture before focusing once more on the scene.

"We had better dash back to the morgue before they become suspicious. Come, Molly!" With that, Sherlock grasps the pathologist's hand and drags her down the corridor, oblivious to the presence of Lestrade and John.

Lestrade's mouth repeatedly opens and closes, and he points towards the corner around which the couple has disappeared. Finally, the dam breaks, and they break into a fit of laughter, nearly doubling over in their delight.

"Did you notice the state of their hair?" Lestrade asks once he has control of himself once more.

"Yes, and I definitely did not miss the fact that his shirt was buttoned incorrectly. I sincerely doubt they were in that supply cupboard collecting microscope slides." Laughter overtakes them again until Lestrade's phone alerts him to a new text message.

"Bastard has the gall to ask where I am. As if _I_ was keeping _him_ waiting."

The pair scurries back to the morgue, internally delighted at the information they have just uncovered.

XXXXX

Sherlock is quiet after their tale, glaring at the two men who are chuckling immaturely on the sofa. Instead of reprimanding them, however, he turns to Mary, who, throughout the entire conversation, has remained unusually quiet. She simply stares up at him, refusing to answer his unspoken question.

He lets out a huff at her stubbornness (although, secretly, this is one of his favorite attributes of Mary Morstan-Watson). "And Mary? How did you find out about Molly and I's relationship? Did you stumble upon us as we ate together at that café Molly loves so much? Catch us sneaking a kiss at one of you and John's numerous dinner parties?" His tone is smug, and Mary smirks at him, glancing quickly at Molly. _I am going to enjoy knocking that grin off his face._

"No, to all of your ridiculous theories. Although, with the inability the two of you have to keep your hands to yourselves, I'm surprised I didn't observe anything untoward."

"Then how?!" Really, only Mary can infuriate him this much. She really is a perfect match for John.

"Simple, really. Molly told me."

Four heads turn simultaneously to gape at the cowering pathologist, who is now looking everywhere but at Sherlock. "Molly? Is this true?!"

"Yes," she mumbles, raising her head to look up at the detective.

"I thought we decided to keep our relationship a secret, at least for the first few months."

"No, you decided! I wasn't planning on telling anyone, I swear! But I was just so happy! I had to share my joy with someone! So, when Mary confronted me about my good mood, it kind of… slipped out. Are you mad?" She tries to pull her hand away from his, intent on leaving, when Sherlock cups her cheek and presses a quick kiss to her lips.

"I'm not mad, Molly. I just wish you had told me." The couple smile lovingly at each other, heads moving slowly inwards, until a cough from behind them interrupts the moment.

"Yeah, still here," John reminds them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/critiques are always welcome!


	4. Goggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is summoned to Baker Street, where Sherlock has a surprise waiting for her. Originally posted on Tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have no idea where this came from. An image in my head of Molly and Sherlock performing experiments at 221B in matching goggles turned into this monstrosity. This is basically pure fluffy, sciency Sherlolly. I'm giggling because I really like this ridiculous little one-shot. This is for everyone who has followed and/or favorited me and my stories. I wouldn't have continued writing if it wasn't for you! <3

Molly Hooper had just finished a rather grueling day at the morgue when she received a text message from her boyfriend ( _Significant other,_ she corrected herself. Sherlock hated that term, and Molly had to agree it didn't quite suit him), asking her to stop by Baker Street on her way home from work. He had been asking ( _demanding_ ) that she bring him a pair of feet for the better part of a week.

The pathologist sighed in defeat as she quickly showered and changed into jeans and one of her most comfortable jumpers. (A green and pink concoction that Sherlock had grudgingly admitted he liked on her.) She grabbed her bag out of her locker, collected the feet, said goodbye to Mike Stamford, and rushed outside to hail a cab.

Once she was safely nestled in the back of the car, Molly settled back into the seat, closing her eyes as she relaxed for the first time in ten hours. She puzzled over Sherlock's mysterious text message. ( _I need you at 221B as soon as your shift is over. –SH_ )

When he had left her in the lab earlier that morning, he had given no indication of asking her over tonight. _Something important must have sprung up then_. She twisted her hands as she nervously pondered what on earth could have occurred in the last few hours to cause Sherlock to send that message.

Molly was so lost in her thoughts that the driver called her name twice before she registered that the cab had stopped moving. Looking out the window, her eyes took in the familiar sight of 221 Baker Street. She apologized profusely as she paid the man, who wasted no time in driving off as soon as she had slammed the door behind her.

Walking up the steps, Molly recollected all that had happened between her and the consulting detective over the last year. It had taken time after his dalliance with drugs for her to trust him again, but his fierce protectiveness over her during Moriarty's return had cemented their frienship.

Then, not long after Moriarty's death (for real this time- Sherlock had made sure of it), Sherlock had taken her to dinner at a small Italian restaurant. The owner had regaled her with tales of Sherlock's many good deeds, including when he got the man off on a murder charge. Molly had giggled shyly when the man told Molly that she was the first girl Sherlock had ever brought in.

Butterflies fluttered in Molly's stomach as she remembered what had taken place _after_ dinner. The detective had walked her home and confessed his romantic feelings for her. They had spent the rest of the night tangled together, reiterating their mutual affection for each other. Heat coiled in her belly at the memory.

"Molly!" A voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see her consulting detective leaning out of his window, wearing only his dark blue dressing gown and a pair of goggles. Molly's heart clenched tightly as she took in the familiar sight. "Quit dallying and come upstairs! I have something to show you!"

She quickly opened the door and practically ran up the stairs, nearly colliding with Sherlock as he pulled the door open to allow her entrance. He beamed at her as he stepped aside to let her into the flat. She placed a quick kiss to his cheek and shimmied out of her coat.

"Did you bring the feet?" he asked excitedly, his seawater eyes sparkling with barely-controlled mirth. Molly held up the cooler and laughed as he clapped his hands together. "Fantastic!" He opened the cooler and peeked inside. "Yes, these will do excellently for our next experiment. Wait here for a moment, Molly!"

Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen, and Molly took the opportunity to divest herself of her shoes and her jumper, leaving her in only jeans and a button-up. She sat down on the sofa and waited for Sherlock to return, delighted to find him in such a good mood. He and John had just completed a case, and she had expected to find him in one of his sulks.

When Sherlock finally reappeared, he brought with him a large white box, complete with a pink bow on top. She raised an eyebrow questioningly, but he simply grinned in response. He sat down next to her and placed the gift in her lap. "I got you something, Molly."

"I can see that, Sherlock. Why? What have you done this time?"

"Must I have done something to buy my pathologist a present?" Sherlock let out a huff when Molly remained silent. "I just wanted to get you something. _Promise._ Please open it?" He widened his eyes and drooped the corners of his mouth, resembling the puppy Molly had owned as a child. Molly shook her head, helpless to resist him. _One of these days,_ she thought, _he will no longer be able to manipulate me like that._ Alas, today was not that day.

She carefully opened the box, anxiety flowing through her as she dared glance inside. She was surprised to discover a dressing gown, uncannily similar to the one Sherlock was currently wearing, and a set of goggles identical to his own. In fact, the only way they would be able to distinguish between the two was the rather prominent "M" written in permanent marker on the side of hers.

Molly dropped the gift onto the table and looked over at the smiling detective. "Sherlock, what…?"

"Since you are over here more often than not assisting me with experiments, I thought it would be logical for you to have your own dressing gown and personal eye protection at 221B. Do you… like them? If not, I can return th–"

"No! No, Sherlock, I love them! I'm just a little confused about why you chose to do this now."

Sherlock looked away and cleared his throat. "Well, Molly, I have been thinking."

"That's terrifying," Molly muttered under her breath, earning a glare from Sherlock. "Sorry," she quickly appeased. "Please continue."

"As I was saying." Here Sherlock paused (he really could be such a drama queen) before continuing. "I've been thinking. We have been together for nearly a year, now, and while I am content with our relationship, I find that I am no longer satisfied with our arrangement."

Molly released a horrified gasp, but Sherlock corrected himself before she could speak. "No, that's not…. That came out wrong. What I meant was…. Oh, just try on your gift, will you?"

"O-okay…," Molly replied, now more confused than ever. He didn't appear to be ending their relationship, but this conversation was turning stranger by the minute. She stood up and grabbed the goggles, pulling them over her face. She was not surprised to find that they were already adjusted and fit her perfectly. She pulled her arms through the sleeves of the dressing gown, relishing the feel of the cool silk against her skin.

"Well?" she asked Sherlock, who was staring up at her with blatant admiration. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," he whispered, grabbing her wrist and dragging her into his lap. Molly felt her cheeks redden with his praise, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. He tilted her chin towards him, pressing a swift kiss to her lips. She moaned in discontent when he pulled away, causing him to chuckle quietly. "Have you checked the pockets yet?"

"What? Why…." Molly's voice drifted off as her hands encountered a small metal object hidden within the right pocket. "Sherlock, is this…?"

"A key to 221B. Yes. I rather thought we could further our relationship by cohabitating. If you'd like, that is," he amended.

Molly found his uncertainty unbearably adorable. "Sherlock, I'm flattered, but I–"

"I realize your personal beliefs require you to be married before moving in with a romantic partner. I am amenable to this change in our relationship as well. We can go see about rings tom– _oomph!_ "

Molly threw her arms around the consulting detective, peppering his face with kisses before drawing back slightly to meet his eyes. "Sherlock, is this your way of asking me to marry you?"

He coughed uncomfortably, his face flushing bright red. "Maybe," he finally conceded, so quietly she had to bend forward to hear him.

Molly giggled happily and fusing their lips together for a much more satisfying snog. "Then I accept."

XXXXX

The next afternoon, John Watson carefully entered 221B Baker Street to check on his former flat mate. Although his mood swings had been much milder ever since he had begun seeing Molly Hooper, Sherlock could still be overly dramatic and even somewhat dangerous when left to his own devices.

Hearing laughter emanating from the kitchen, John quietly peered into the makeshift laboratory. He smiled softly to himself at the sight of Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper huddled together over a Bunsen burner, the smell of charred plastic filling the air. Both wore matching dressing gowns and goggles, oblivious to everything but their experiment and each other. John watched as Sherlock placed a kiss to Molly's temple, pointing at something on the table in front of him.

John quietly let himself out, winking at a delighted Mrs. Hudson on his way. The ex-army doctor whistled to himself as he strolled down Baker Street, content with the knowledge that Sherlock had truly found the perfect companion for him. He only hoped Sherlock had the decency to ask him to be best man at their wedding. He couldn't wait to give a speech. John grinned wickedly. _Do I have some stories to tell…._


	5. Costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short and sweet drabble based on a Tumblr prompt.

“Who are they supposed to be?”

“Who?”

“Mary and Molly. _Obviously._ ”

Greg Lestrade resisted the urge to roll his eyes and turned his gaze in the direction of the two women. When he saw their costumes, however, he glanced over at his friend (and no matter how many times Sherlock contested it, they _were_ friends) in disbelief.

“Honestly, Sherlock? You can’t tell? It’s fairly _obvious_ , don’t you think?”

Mary wore a hideous beige jumper and black trousers. She had attached a positively horrid blonde mustache above her lips, and she stood with her arms crossed and a grumpy expression on her face. Every so often, the façade would be broken when she laughed at something, but overall, the likeness was pretty good.

Molly’s costume, however, took the cake.

Like Mary, she wore black trousers, but she had selected a man’s shirt in a deep purple color, leaving the top two buttons undone. Over that, she wore a black coat which fell below her knees. Greg laughed when he realized she’d propped the collar up as well.

To cap it all off (Greg chuckled at his own joke), her dark hair was covered by a deerstalker.

 _It’s certainly not subtle,_ he thought to himself.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Sherlock left his side, striding towards the two women.

“Where are you going, Sherlock?” he called.

“To ask them, Graham. _Obviously._ ”

Overlooking Sherlock’s ignorance of his name, _again_ , Greg rushed after his friend. He couldn’t wait to see Sherlock’s face when he figured it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment? They always brighten my day!


	6. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A post-Special drabble inspired by "Hello" by Adele.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.

_Hello from the other side_  
I must have called a thousand times  
To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done  
But when I call you never seem to be home

57 days, 6 hours, and 43 minutes, and he still has not spoken to Molly Hooper.

Well, more accurately, _she_ has not spoken to _him_.

Heaven only knows how many texts he has sent to her mobile, asking (begging) for a meeting with her. He even endeavors to call her.

He stops after his tenth attempt went directly to voicemail.

Sherlock had recognized her anger and hurt that day in the lab, when she had awoken him from a drug-induced haze by three powerful (but necessary) slaps to the face. Instead of apologizing like she asked, however, he had thrown her broken engagement in her face.

In the wake of his shooting, he had made no effort at reconciliation, too preoccupied with Magnussen and the Watsons’ marital troubles.

Looking back, that was probably (definitely) his first mistake.

The second had been murdering a man (monster) in cold blood and then leaving on a suicide mission without saying goodbye.

His overdose on the airplane had certainly not redeemed him in her eyes, either.

At this rate, he will be lucky if she ever _looks_ at him again.

He accepts her wishes and only visits St. Bart’s when he knows she will not be on shift, but he leaves little signs that he hopes illustrate his remorse.

Dirty test tubes are cleaned until they shine; her dwindling supply of hydrochloric acid miraculously replenishes itself. A bag of her favorite crisps is left sitting on her desk.

(He returns later that evening and finds the bag in the trash. He vows to try harder.)

No matter what effort he puts forth, however, Molly Hooper refuses to see him. To forgive him.

And he only has himself to blame.

_Hello from the outside_  
At least I can say that I've tried  
To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart  
But it don't matter it clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore

When he finally sees her, it is an accident.

He and John have just completed a case, an antiquity smuggling ring that has kept him occupied for three days. John has gone home to spend time with Mary, and Sherlock strolls down the busy London streets alone, a half-eaten container of chips gripped in his hand.

He walks past a bustling Italian restaurant, the smell of spices drifting outside through the open door. He glances up, only for a moment, and is surprised to see Molly Hooper sitting just on the other side of the window.

The crisps fall, forgotten, on the pavement at his feet.

She is wearing a white dress patterned with lilac flowers. Her hair is curled and pulled back from her face, while a light dusting of blush covers the apples of her cheeks. The corners of her mouth (colored today by only a thin layer of pink gloss) are tipped upwards in a radiant smile.

She makes quite the picture, he thinks, as he watches her converse with her dining companion. ( _Matt from the psychology department_ , Sherlock remembers offhandedly.) Rarely in the ten years he has known her has he been responsible for putting such a joyous expression on her face.

No, he has only caused her pain and heartbreak.

She chews on a breadstick as her _date_ (he cringes at the word) regales her with some comical anecdote, and she throws back her head in laughter.

She looks so untroubled, her shoulders relaxed in a way he has never noticed before this moment, like she hasn’t a care in the world. He envies her that cheeriness, even as he realizes his absence in her life is likely the reason for it.

He has not spoken to Molly Hooper in 57 days, 6 hours, and 43 minutes, and she seems happier because of it.

She chooses that moment to let her gaze wander, her brows furrowing minutely when her eyes pass over his hunched form outside. He tries to plead with her silently, to make her understand that he never meant to hurt her. That he is sorry for everything he’s done. After a moment, however, her eyes glide past him, the slight tensing of her mouth the only indication that she recognizes him.

Ignoring the ache in his gut, he glances at her one more time, storing the image in his mind palace for future viewings. He turns and continues on his path toward Baker Street, weighed down by the consequences of his actions. He cannot stop feeling that he has just lost something vital. _Precious_. Something he doesn’t think he wants to live without.

Molly Hooper is better off without him in her life. He vows to stay away, to finally be the unselfish one in their unbalanced relationship.

She deserves that, and so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing a companion piece to this from Molly's POV, which should be posted sometime tomorrow. Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought!


	7. Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a companion piece to the oneshot I posted the other day, titled "Hello". I would suggest reading that one first, or the last scene of this won't make much sense. It turned into more of a 2500 word Molly Hooper character study, and I quite like it. I hope you do as well!

Molly has always been amazed that a man so brilliant in certain areas could be so blind in others.

XXXXX

He doesn't notice that she is interested in him romantically.

She gathers all of her courage and invites him out for coffee, only to be dismissed in the most oblivious manner possible. She reminds herself that he doesn't _do_ relationships, and tries to convince herself that his disinterest is not personal, but because he is not interested in anyone in that way.

(It doesn't help ease the pain much.)

XXXXX

He doesn't see the way her shoulders slump after he flirts in order to gain access to the morgue.

It is obvious, even to her, that he only says such things so she will agree to his requests. So that she will do anything he asks.

(He neglects to see that she will do anything for him regardless.)

XXXXX

She meets Jim from IT, and thinks that, maybe, she is moving on. Finally, she has found someone who could replace the maddening (dazzling) consulting detective in her heart. They watch Glee, snuggled together on her sofa, and Molly wonders if she could be happy again.

Sherlock doesn't see the way her heart breaks when he so callously dismisses her relationship, revealing Jim's sexuality in so painful a fashion. The worst part is that he doesn't even realize how cruel his deduction of Jim is.

She tells herself that his assessment is strictly objective, that he couldn't possibly be jealous of her association with the other man. She can't quite make herself believe it.

(Hope hurts worse than outright rejection.)

XXXXX

Later, she learns from John Watson that her sweet, kind boyfriend is actually a criminal mastermind hell-bent on destroying the man she loves. She cries herself to sleep that night.

XXXXX

He doesn't realize when her infatuation with him changes to love.

She is surprised when he mentions the Christmas party he and John Watson are hosting at their flat.

Butterflies flitter throughout her stomach as she gets ready. The dress costs well over a month's salary, but the extra money is worth it if she can finally convince Sherlock to notice her. She spends hours carefully curling her hair and applying makeup, determined to make an impression. She gazes at her reflection in the mirror, pleased with the picture staring back at her for once. She grabs the carefully wrapped gift (a book on apiculture she knows he will love) and heads to 221B Baker Street.

As soon as she enters the flat and perceives Sherlock's mood, she realizes this night is not going to end the way she envisioned. He begins deducing her, everything from her lipstick to the presents in her arms, and is astounded by his harsh disregard for her feelings. She had thought them friends, at the very least, but his words plunge through her heart like a knife.

(She imagines this could very well be the moment she stops caring about him for good.)

He falters when he reads his name on the label, gulping as he finally realizes the truth behind his deductions. No one else seems surprised, all gazing at her with pitying expressions on their faces.

(She's always hated being pitied.)

She calls him out, for both past offenses and this latest abuse, and refuses to make eye contact with anyone else in the room. Shame, embarrassment, and disappointment churn together in her gut, replacing the butterflies that resided there earlier.

He starts to turn away, but decides against it and steps closer. So stunned is she by his apology, she barely hears his actual words. The room is silent as he moves closer still. She cannot hold in the gasp as his lips brush her cheek, a light caress that sends her insides tingling.

She encounters him later that evening, after being called in to work the case of a Jane Doe. Her heartbreak returns at the sight of him, swelling even more as he identifies the unknown woman by her naked torso. She overhears his elder brother telling him that caring for others is a disadvantage, and, suddenly, all that she has observed about Sherlock Holmes begins to make sense.

For the first time, she sees Sherlock Holmes not as the egotistical detective that he displays to the world, but as the lonely, isolated man that he truly is.

(She falls for him that night, harder than ever, and starts to question whether her heart will ever be out of his grasp.)

XXXXX

He doesn't see how the situation with Moriarty begins to take its toll on him, but she does.

She watches as he becomes more agitated in his search for answers, as he pushes John Watson away in hopes of keeping the doctor sheltered from the upcoming storm. If John notices how distant Sherlock is becoming, he gives no indication, leaving Molly to wonder if there could really be two men so willfully ignorant of things that matter.

The two men visit the lab, John sitting across the room while she helps Sherlock with forensic tests. He looks so sad, so desperate for John to _see_ , that she cannot stop herself from speaking up. She deduces him the same way he always deduces others, and refuses to give up the topic of conversation when he attempts to brush her off.

( _"I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."_

" _You can see me."_

" _I don't count."_ )

She offers herself to him, but is still shocked when he comes to her that night as she is finishing her shift. The morgue is dim, draping him in a shroud of darkness that only adds to the aura of mystery that always surrounds him. He asks for her help, and she doesn't even have to think about her answer.

( _"What do you need?"_

" _You."_ )

He outlines his dilemma, and the plan he has concocted to get out of it. Molly spends a sleepless night locating a body that can pass as Sherlock and worrying that, even with their careful preparation, Sherlock still might not survive.

When he leaves her flat the next morning, exhausted and emotionally drained, but _alive_ , he thanks her and gives her a small smile before sliding into the car beside his brother.

(She treasures the memory of that smile for the next two years.)

XXXXX

He doesn't witness John Watson slowly falling apart after the death of his best friend.

Molly wants to help, but she can only be in his presence for so long. Guilt is her constant companion these days, softly murmuring in her ear that she has the power to end the doctor's suffering if she just revealed the truth.

(She could never betray Sherlock's trust like that.)

So she begins declining invitations to go out with Greg and John, isolating herself from her friends so that she can pretend the guilt does not exist.

(She receives an unsigned post card from Bolivia three months after the Fall. The knowledge that he is all right alleviates a little of her anguish.)

XXXXX

Tom is… perfect. Everything her fourteen-year-old self imagined in a future spouse: fun, drama-free, and adored by her mum. And if he vaguely looks like someone else, well, she's always been attracted to tall, dark-haired men. She simply has a type.

He proposes after they've only been together six months. She knows it seems fast, but she agrees anyway because she cannot wait around for stupidly flawless consulting detectives any longer. Her heart can't take it.

(She keeps the postcards she's received in a box under her bed, out of sight but never forgotten.)

XXXXX

He doesn't see how his return rips a hole through the carefully reconstructed lives of those closest to him.

She finishes with her shift and packs up her belongings, preparing herself for the solitary walk back to her flat, when his reflection appears in her mirror.

(She can't stop the grin from lighting up her face, any more than she can stop her pulse from quickening at his proximity.)

John Watson refuses to speak with him after their reunion goes as well as can be expected. Mary keeps her updated on John's mood, and Molly tells her more about Sherlock in return.

When she receives the text asking her to come to Baker Street, she hesitates for only a moment before responding. She has been friends with him long enough to realize that his request likely has no ulterior motives.

(That knowledge doesn't stop her from hoping, though.)

The day is perfect, the pair of them working together in near perfect synchronization, but there is an unspoken strain underlying all of their interactions. He has not mentioned her engagement aloud, but the way he talks to her, as though each exchange will be the last, informs her that he is at least aware of it.

He invites her out to dinner. The piece of her heart that may as well have been permanently stamped with 'Sherlock Holmes' yearns desperately to say yes. She remembers her fiancé (her loving, kind, _perfect_ fiancé), however, and declines the offer. Her resolve shatters throughout his heartfelt thank you and the chaste kiss he presses to her cheek, but he is gone before she has a chance to say anything more.

XXXXX

He doesn't realize that the implosion of her relationship coincides with his best man speech at John and Mary's wedding.

He frequents the morgue during her work hours these days, treating her more like a trusted friend and less like the colleague he had before the Fall. She teases him mercilessly when he visits, and he bears it admirably, his need to make up for past behavior apparent.

(She starts to think that maybe they can stay friends, and maybe she can be happy with that.)

Then he makes that wonderful speech and everything goes to shite.

To his credit, Tom shows no surprise when she returns his grandmother's engagement ring, sitting innocently atop her outstretched palm. He reveals that he has known she would never become his wife ever since _he_ came back to life.

Tom presents her with a sad, understanding smile before donning his coat and walking out of her life forever.

(This is the moment she accepts that she will never stop loving Sherlock Holmes.)

XXXXX

He doesn't notice that the thin layer of rage is hiding a much weightier feeling of disappointment.

In him. In herself. She really isn't sure which anymore.

John brings him in to the lab, drugged and completely out of his wits. She doesn't need to examine the test results to know what they will reveal. So, she lets her anger take control of her body, and slaps him three times before demanding an apology.

(She regrets her actions as soon as her palm hits its mark for the third and final time.)

When he mocks her failure of an engagement, however, she can't quite contain her hurt and sends him off without another word.

(She doesn't cry herself to sleep, but she stays awake well into the morning hours, replaying the image of his jeering expression over and over until she finally drifts off.)

XXXXX

She refuses to meet with him again after that day, but she learns of his shooting from Greg. He disappears from his hospital room, and Mary probes her for information about his possible whereabouts.

She replies that he once stayed in her flat – slept in her bed, even – but that she really has no insight into the mind of Sherlock Holmes.

(She recognizes it as a lie even as it slips off her tongue.)

She follows the Magnussen investigation in the papers, disheartened once more as she studies the articles detailing his dalliance with Mary's bridesmaid. It isn't that she believes the other woman's accusations; it's that she knows he must have really hurt Janine to warrant her retaliation.

He makes no attempt to contact her, and Molly isn't sure whether she is upset or relieved.

She scans the newspapers daily, desperate for any news of him, when she stops short at the announcement of Magnussen's murder. Sherlock's name is left out of the story, but Molly instinctively knows he was involved.

(Moriarty's face appears on her television screen, and she is instantly thrust backwards in time, to three years ago when every mention of the man filled her veins with ice water.)

XXXXX

He doesn't realize how much she misses him.

She argues with herself constantly, debating whether to reply to his texts, or to answer the phone when he calls. She never does, because the painful image of him that day in the lab is still painted on the inside of her eyelids. It haunts her, that such an extraordinary man could be dragged so low.

She sits across from her date, a nice man from St. Bart's psychology department. Matt is cute, with sandy-blonde hair and dimples that light up his face every time he smiles. She laughs at his stories, telling herself that this is what she needs in a significant other.

(Even as she grins at him, she knows this first date will be their last.)

Her skin prickles with the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. She looks around her, trying to find the source, and is shocked to see Sherlock Holmes himself staring at her from the opposite side of the window. In the millisecond their gazes lock, his eyes speak a thousand words, begging her not to hate him anymore.

(He's never understood that she could never hate him. She loves him too much for that.)

She turns back to Matt, not ready to deal with the consulting detective just yet. She will have to confront him eventually, of course. His presence in her life is too vital for their separation to continue much longer.

(He doesn't see her eyes follow him as he walks away.)

She treads home alone, sending Matt off with a final kiss on the cheek, deliberating what to do about Sherlock.

(There is really only one option. She's known that since she saw him again.)

Her fingers tap out a nervous rhythm on her kitchen counter as she gazes at her mobile, his number prominently highlighted on the small screen. She hovers over the call button for several minutes before she throws caution to the wind and hits send.

The phone rings three times before he answers. He doesn't say anything; he has tried to make amends, and now it is her turn to take the next step.

"Hello?" she asks hesitantly. Maybe this was a horrible idea. "Sherlock?"

She breathes into the phone, listening to his exhales on the other end of the line. _God, how she's missed him._

"It's me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments?

**Author's Note:**

> This is now my personal headcanon for how Sherlock would propose to anyone he actually cared about.
> 
> Reviews and comments are always welcome!


End file.
